


The Last Adventure

by NimWallace



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Gen, Happy Ending, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Feels, POV Mycroft Holmes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sherlock Holmes's Retirement, Sherlock's Funeral, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 08:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16301735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimWallace/pseuds/NimWallace
Summary: In which Mycroft Holmes does one last thing for his brother.





	The Last Adventure

Mycroft was not surprised they died holding hands.

It was only fitting, wasn’t it? Seventy years is a long time to love a person—they were synced to the brain by now.

It was the maid who found them, in the bedroom with their hands intertwined, laying in the morning sun. She said they looked like they were sleeping.

Mycroft didn’t grieve very long—he imagined his brother as being very happy in his last moments, that was evident. It was his belief that he and Dr. Watson had shared even their last breath together. It only made sense.

Mycroft was old now too, old and tired. How he’d outlived his brother eluded him—perhaps it was the years of strenuous work, or maybe just the simple act that he was ready to go.

That does play a part.

Sherlock’s pipe and Stradivari were found next to his chair. Watson’s typewriter was on his desk.

The bees had been healthy, but sensing their master was gone, died prematurely.

A shame, it was still spring.

Mycroft was primarily concerned with the will.

It was simple—a joint will of their possessions stating their most prized treasures—case relics and the like—would go to Mycroft.

The only wish the will conveyed was that they buried together, in one grave, in London.

The names at the bottom were signed “Sherlock and John Watson-Holmes”

The moment Mycroft read it, he knew burying his brother the way he intended would be a nightmare.

Of course, any lawyer who read it was disgusted by it and refused outright to officiate it—the will was not legally binding yet.

Mycroft was retired. He was an old man with almost no involvement with the British Government any longer.

But he knew he must do this last thing.

He pulled a few strings and rang up some of the men he used to work with. It was difficult—he spent many nights awake, many phone calls and letters and telegrams and meetings, but he did it.

He officiated the will.

There was no real funeral service—the casket was lowered into the ground and buried.

There was no priest, and few friends were still around. Old Lestrade had passed a year ago, and dear Mrs Hudson many more years ago.

Mostly those in attendance were clients or strangers—faces of young and old, male and female, black and white—fading in and out of the grey London air.

They came, left black roses and green carnations and chrysanthemums, bowed their heads or whispered a prayer and left.

Mycroft stayed the morning, the afternoon—and then through the evening, watching the sun elongate the stone letters.

“Goodbye, my dear brother,” he said, tipping his hat. “May you find rest.”

The grave sat glittering in the moon, caressed by the sharp London winds which had blown through the detectives coat. The stone read:

 

Here Lie

Sherlock and John Watson-Holmes

The worlds greatest consulting detectives

Kind hearts

Loyal and brave souls

May They Find As Much Adventure In Death As They Did Life


End file.
